Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 109640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
When she finally made it to the bar at the back of the room, not one stool was empty. She couldn’t even see how many were working behind it because she was standing behind a wall of men, and even some women, the majority wearing various club colors. She scanned a few of the patches, not recognizing any of the MC names.
Despite that, she came here for only one. The Deadly Demons. Now the proud owners of this classy establishment.
A loud belch filled her right ear and when she glanced that way, a beer-bellied biker by the name of Torch, according to his name patch, gave her a six-toothed smile and licked his barely visible lips. With a yank on his long, disheveled beard, he greeted, “Hey, baby. You lookin’ for me?”
She gave him a friendly smile and turned to face him. “Depends.”
“On what?”
“On what you have to offer.”
His thick brow furrowed. “Can offer you a beer. But don’t expect to get it for nothin’.”
It would be cheaper to buy her own beer. Getting a beer from this gentleman wouldn’t be worth the price. “I’m worth a lot more than a Busch Light.”
“Buy you a whiskey, then.”
“And how much is that going to cost me?”
He pursed his lips and tilted his head as his gaze slid down from her head to her booted toes. That wasn’t the only thing sliding down her. A shiver raced along her spine at the look in the man’s eyes.
He reminded her of someone who took without asking.
“Depends how good that pretty little mouth of yours is.”
“It’s good at eating and drinking. Sometimes whistling and singing. But not much else.”
A quizzical look filled his face. “What?”
She shook her head. “I’ll buy my own whiskey, thank you.”
“You one of those eeeendeeependent women? One of those who ‘don’t need a man?’”
“I got a man. And I’m not sure he’d like the offer you’re making me.”
Torch’s head jerked back. “Who’s your ol’ man?”
“Throttle.”
“Never heard of him. Whose colors does he wear?”
“Nobody’s. He’s only loyal to me.”
“Lone wolf, then.”
She shrugged. “He likes his freedom and doesn’t want to answer to anyone.”
“Except he’s tied to a piece like you.”
“Is that a compliment or an insult?”
“Could be either, depending on what a man’s into.”
“I guess he’s into what I got.”
Torch sucked on his teeth. “Bit too fuckin’ skinny for my taste. Also, not my flavor. But in the dark, who the fuck cares, right? Long as both the pussy and mouth are tight and wet.”
“Right.” What a gem. “Funny how you just offered me a whiskey in exchange for that mouth. I wasn’t too skinny for you, or not your flavor, a few seconds ago.”
“Like I said, in the dark, don’t matter what you look like.”
“You’re a real peach, Torch.”
A shift in the wall of bikers farther down the bar had her escaping Torch’s top-notch company and shoving herself into the gap of bodies so she could make contact with someone who worked there.
She was ignored by the two guys behind the bar for about ten minutes. They served everyone wearing a damn cut, purposely skipping over her.
Assholes.
After she blew out a frustrated breath, “Who you belong to?” came from the old guy sitting on a stool to her right.
His cut appeared vintage and well-worn, his silver hair trimmed short but his gray beard long.
Bikers sure liked their facial hair. Either that or they hated shaving.
“Who do you belong to?” she countered.
The older biker chuckled. At least he had more teeth than Torch. “My ol’ lady.”
“Well, she’s a lucky lady.”
The man huffed, “Not sure she’d agree with you. What’s your name?”
“Rose. Yours?”
He pointed a gnarled finger to his name patch. “Midas.”
“Nice to meet you, Midas. What club do you ride with?”
“Ace’s Wild.”
She tipped her head to the side as she considered him. “Never heard of them. Where are they out of?”
“Virginia,” he answered with pride.
Since she adopted Virginia as her home state, she understood that pride. “You’re pretty far from home, aren’t you?”
“Here for some business.”
Cami’s eyebrows rose. “What kind of business?”
He grinned. “The kind where you mind your own.”
She returned his grin with a smile. He wasn’t being a dick but trying to be funny.
“You’d have better luck gettin’ one of the bartenders to serve you if you were wearin’ your man’s cut,” Midas informed her.
“My man doesn’t have one. I mean, he has one but not for an MC.”
The biker’s brow dropped low. “So, he rides but don’t belong to any brotherhood?”
Shit. Did she fuck up? She had to simply own it. “You got it.”
“Why?”
“You’d have to ask him.”
“What are you doin’ in a biker bar like this alone?”
She glanced around. “Am I alone?”
“Without your ol’ man.”
“You assume I’m not buying him a drink.”
He cocked one of his gray, bushy eyebrows. “Are you?”
Her smile widened. “No. Looking to score.”
He stared at her with narrowed eyes for a few seconds. “Plenty of assholes here to score with. Your ol’ man don’t mind sharin’?”